


Wallflower

by LuvvSnuggleBug



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Crushes, F/M, Fremione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvvSnuggleBug/pseuds/LuvvSnuggleBug
Summary: Hermione's life is uprooted as she moves from London to Manchester for her parents dentistry business. She attempts to prepare for university whilst harboring a crush for her friend's older brother.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Kudos: 8





	Wallflower

Hermione stared into the clear plastic cup that she held in her hands, entranced with the way that the strobing lights of the living room reflected off of the whiskey. The music was pulsing throughout the house and the floor was vibrating with all of the jumping and excitement from the impromptu dance floor in the center of the room. Hermione’s heart was beating in time with the bass of the EDM track blasting from the speakers. It was easy for her to forget, in that moment, that she was in a new town, in a new school, and in a new home. 

The Grangers had opened their own dentistry in Manchester, over 300 kilometers from Hermoine’s friends and life in London. They had lived 16 years in a small suburb with a two-car garage and had packed it all up in one week to move into a cramped apartment with terrible Wi-Fi. Hermione spent her summer cooped up in her room devoting herself to her books and her orange Persian, Crookshanks. She only left the apartment occasionally to eat out or go grocery shopping with her mother. 

School had crept up on her fast, and before she knew it, Hermione’s mother fussed over back to school shopping and lectures to Hermione about “making her Year 13 memorable and exciting” before she set off back to London for University. But Hermione missed her best friend, Harry, who she skyped every Friday night, and she missed the small park behind her childhood home where she and Harry used to play. She missed the quaint bookshop near her old school that smelled of dust and elderly ladies’ perfume. She missed curling into the plush armchair in her favorite nook at the library while she read under the dim yellow light of a chandelier. 

It was only her first week of her new school and she had never felt so alone, even surrounded by so many kind faces. The principal, Ms McGonagall, had assigned Year 11 Ginny Weasley, captain of the girls’ lacrosse team, to show Hermione around the school and to make sure Hermione had someone to sit by at lunch. Her day had ended with an invitation to a house party and the memory of an awkward lunch spent eating quietly next to Ginny, Lavender Brown, and the Patil twins.

“You’ll make friends there,” Mrs Granger had said during dinner. “I met some of my best friends at parties. You can’t spend your whole life locked in your room.” Hermione regretted telling her parents about the party, but her invitation was the only eventful thing that had happened her first day. They had gone as far as to drop her off down the street from the party, telling her to “have fun and make questionable choices.”

It was nearing one in the morning, two hours into the party, and the only thing Hermione had accomplished was a few sips of bitter tasting alcohol. She could see many of her classmates enjoying games of beer pong, picking through what remained of the snacks, and talking loudly amongst themselves. Hermione checked her phone for the hundredth time that night, hoping for a message from her father saying it was time to come home, but there was no such message; Mrs Granger had made it clear Hermione should stay at the party until at least two o’clock. 

Hermione pushed up from against the wall and wandered down the hallway towards the restroom she had noticed upon her arrival. The house belonged to the parents of a boy named Draco, a posh twat that played rugby and bragged about his material wealth. The wall was full of family portraits and school photos from Draco’s youth. A particular picture from primary school showed a white blond angel with a missing tooth on the left side, but the following year’s photo was of a stone-cold boy glaring into the lens. Hermione vaguely wondered what had changed that summer, but was certain she’d probably never have a friendly conversation with the boy. 

“Watch it.” A girl with an upturned nose and long dark hair shoved Hermione out of her way, causing Hermoine to spill her whiskey on the front of her shirt. Draco’s entourage member #1, Parkinson, laughed at Hermione’s stumble as she pulled a trashed Draco up the stairs at the end of the hallway, presumably to one of the numerous bedrooms. 

Hermione sighed as she entered the empty restroom on her left, closing and locking the door behind her. The walls muffled the blaring music, giving Hermione a moment to think, breathe, and compose herself. 

She decided against using the loo, due to the presence of a strange boy passed out in the tub, and instead splashed cool water on her face. 

“You’re almost there,” Hermione said to herself. “Just another hour.”

  
The whiskey on her shirt was staining the stark white fabric a light brown. Hermoine grabbed the hand towel and dampened it under the tap before removing her shirt to scrub at the stain as best she could. Once she put the shirt back on, she saw the extent of the damage. Hermione’s shirt was almost completely see-through from her navel to her shoulders. She could see, very clearly, her plain tan bra and could even make out a few of the freckles that spanned her chest. 

It was something that wouldn’t have happened back in London. Hermione wouldn’t have been pressured into attending a party to fail at making connections, she wouldn’t have carried a cup of liquor to feel as if she fit in, and she certainly wouldn’t be flashing her underclothes to the majority of her classmates on her way out the front door. Hermione hated Manchester. 

With teary eyes, Hermione mustered up the courage to walk out of the house to the street where she could call her father. She peered out of the bathroom into an empty hall. The music was still ear-splitting, and a commotion in the kitchen could be heard above the electronic beats. She passed the formal dining room, which was empty in fear of the wrath of the Malfoys if anything were damaged, and she passed the private library with it’s floor to ceiling built in bookcases that she desperately wanted to browse. The foyer, which sat between her and the front door, was full of lavish decor and a large silver chandelier hanging from the second floor ceiling. There were, however, a dozen people cheering on a brawl between two well-built boys. 

A brown-haired boy with a crooked nose struggled to pin the much larger blond boy down, repeatedly punching the blond in the side of the face. The drunk girl, who they seemed to be fighting over, stood crying a meter away from them, apologizing for cheating on her boyfriend. Hermione sighed heavily as she devised a plan to get around them without drawing unfavorable attention towards herself. 

“Not a party without a fight, huh Love?” A rangy orange-headed boy said from behind Hermione. He leaned over her shoulder to whisper into her ear; she could smell his cologne and the liquor on his breath. “Looking to get ravaged tonight? That’s a lovely bra you’ve got on. Very ‘elderly-woman chic.’” 

Hermione blushed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She could feel the heat rush from her cheeks and down her chest in embarrassment. She shoved past the drunken teens and tried her best to ignore their cat-calls and whistles, but her eyes burned with tears. She just needed to make her way down the street to where she had coordinated her father to pick her up. Even if he wouldn’t come for another hour, she could at least be far enough away from the party for anyone to notice her.

Hermione sat on the curb two streets down from Malfoy’s house, rubbing her eyes to rid them of tears. It was only 1:30, but she had just told her father to pick her up promptly at two so he wouldn’t worry that something had happened to her. The night had gotten colder, and the dampness of her shirt didn’t help to warm her. Hermione wanted to cry again. 

There was a familiar scent in the air: patchouli, tobacco, and a hint of vanilla. She recognized it instantly as the cologne of the red-headed boy. 

“If you’re going to be outside, you should cover up.” The boy said. Hermione rolled her eyes as the boy pulled a rolled cigarette and lighter from the pocket of his worn leather jacket. “Want some?” he asked, holding the now lit cigarette out to her.

“I don’t smoke.” Hermione said. She pulled her arms closer to attempt to warm and cover herself.

  
“Neither do I, it’s skunk.” He pulled the joint to his lips and took a deep inhale. “You enjoy sitting alone in the dark in the middle of the night?” he questioned as he expelled smoke down towards Hermione.

“Not particularly, my father is about to be here.” Hermione fanned the smoke away from her face, looking anywhere but at the boy. She hoped he would get the cue and leave her alone, but he was drunk, and he very much did not pick up on her discomfort. 

“I’ll wait with you, then,” he said as he sat down right beside her. His legs stretched out long into the street, crossed at the ankles, and he continued to smoke in their silence.

Hermione tried to stay focused on the screen of her phone, scrolling through instagram, then facebook, and then her messages, hoping for a distraction from the boy beside her. She had thought she’d successfully wasted the half an hour until her father would arrive, but her clock only read 1:40. 

“You sure your pops is on his way? Maybe he forgot about you.” The boy was staring intently at Hermione. He stashed the spent end of his joint in his jacket pocket and then shivered. “Brisk, innit? Reckon there’s a cold front coming in.” 

“He’ll be here any minute, you really don’t need to wait with me, especially if you’re getting cold.” Hermione’s skin had already sprouted gooseflesh, but she ignored the desire to lean into the boy for warmth. 

“Nah, I couldn’t leave you out here. I’ve got a little sister, you know. I know how dangerous it is for a girl to be out alone.” The boy shrugged off his jacket and leaned over to place it on Hermione’s shoulders. He scooted towards Hermione until their thighs touched. “I’ll lend you my jacket, but you’ve got to keep me warm in return, yeah?” 

“If the danger you are referring to is that of strange men, I’m sorry to say that you also fit into that category.” Hermione said. The boy laughed, and against her better judgement, Hermione slid her arms into the jacket. It was heavy, but still warm from his body heat.

“Meant more along the lines of Tigers, or witches, or…” there was a loud thudding from a trash can across the street, “raccoons?” 

“Are you mental?” Hermione huffed. She turned to face the boy in time to see his wide smile. He was attractive, she could deduce, with a charming smile and friendly eyes. He didn’t seem much of a threat. 

“Positively.” He stared at her a long while, which only added to Hermione’s discomfort. She could again smell the alcohol on his breath, reminding her that he was only leaning in towards her because he could not sit up straight on his own. 

“I’m called Fred,” he said. He had leaned towards her so far that Hermione had begun to lean back, away from him.

“That’s nice.” 

A pair of headlights shone from down the road and Hermione stood abruptly. Fred pulled his legs in from the street, his knees resting against his chest.

“You’re fit,” Fred said. “I’m sorry, is that too forward? My head is awfully fuzzy.”

“Thank you for waiting with me,” Hermione said as she began to take off Fred’s jacket.

“Keep it,” he said. “You shouldn’t let anyone see that beautiful chest but me.” 

Hermione was unfamiliar with the flattery; she had never been called beautiful before, but she couldn’t say that it was welcome coming from a drunken boy. She’d be lying to herself if she said she found him anything but handsome, and even if the words came from an inebriated state, they still made her heart beat erratically. 

“Hermione!” Mr Granger called, startling her. He had rolled the passenger window down and peered at Fred, who sat with an amused smile. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.” 

“Not at all, dad,” Hermione said as she opened the car door and buckled herself into the seat. She waited for her father to drive off, but he kept his foot pressed on the brake. 

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your friend?” Mr Granger said. Fred stood, stumbling briefly, and came to the open window. 

“Goodbye Hermione,” he said, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his pants. He rocked back and forth on his heels while he waited for Hermione to speak.

“Goodbye Fred.” Hermione rolled the window back up as her father drove down the street, passing the Malfoy’s house where the party was still in full swing. She watched Fred disappear in the rearview mirror, her heart still pounding in her chest from his flirting. 

She thought briefly about how she was to return his jacket to him. He had said to keep it, but he was drunk: he couldn’t have truly meant it. 

“I see you’ve made a new friend,” Mr Granger said. He chuckled as he turned the volume of the radio down, hoping to hear more about Hermione’s new ‘friend’.

“I wouldn’t quite call him that, dad. I’ve just met him.”

“You’ll have to thank him for me,” he said. “For keeping you safe.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. If only he knew that Fred had followed her because he thought she was fit, not because he worried about her safety. He could have very well been a threat to her for all she knew. Yet, he had made sure she was warm while he sat cold, and he had admitted to being so bold with her. 

She thought about Fred as they drove from the neighborhood of detached multi-story-homes, through the urban flats and shopping districts, and finally to the newly gentrified block where their new apartment was. He had been the first person since her arrival in Manchester to be friendly to her, besides Ginny, of course, who had been instructed to be friendly towards her. She assumed that he was, like her, a student, and hoped that he might be just as friendly to her sober as he seemed to be at the party.

  
  



End file.
